


This Is Where

by Biromantic_Nerd



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: (Not even Gwen), AU, Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aunt May loves Peter SO much, Deviates From Canon, Dr. Connors Is Bad News, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Hurt Peter, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, It's not a major theme but Curt manipulates in lots of ways, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Precious Peter Parker, This sounds depressing?, no romantic relationships, none of my SHIELD are HYDRA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-24 13:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6154941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biromantic_Nerd/pseuds/Biromantic_Nerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by how in TASM, Peter comes home late at night with bruises all the time. I thought- what if he didn't get the bruises from fighting as Spiderman? But from a singular person instead.</p>
<p>Dr. Connors never really let go of his grudge towards Richard Parker. And now he has Richard's son to extract his long-awaited revenge, of sorts.</p>
<p>Peter starts out interested in furthering science, but quickly realizes that no one would ever believe him when the esteemed Dr. Curt Connors starts to beat him up on a regular basis to insure his compliance with the algorithm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> Enter SHIELD, who intervenes. At first they were monitoring the appearance of Spiderman (or maybe just Oscorp) But then they notice that Connors is suspicious, and they zero in on the twitchy intern that isn't registered as an intern. As SHIELD always does, they investigate further. They discover the algorithm and how Connors is the Lizard; they also discover that the not-intern intern can definitely be of help to them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You look... just like your father." He breathed.
> 
> "But with my mother's eyes?" The boy grinned.
> 
> "No, no! You're your father through and through."
> 
> "It- it was a Harry Potter reference. No? Okay then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take precautions and _please_ check the tags before reading this story. This is the intro chapter and not as bad, but those tags will be occurring in the story. 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone.

It was a photograph. His parents were in it. Them, he recognized with a rush of complicated, conflicting emotions. But there was also someone else that he had never seen before in any photograph and didn't recall ever seeing in person. A man, also a scientist. A clue to his parents' past. 

Dr. Curt Connors, according to Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Peter looked him up online and found his ideas. The scientist believed in cross genetic species being utilized to help further medical needs for humanity - and not just medical needs. His work was interesting and complex, and Peter realized that he had the answer to it. The missing algorithm in order to make the mere possibility an actual reality. 

Peter needed to contact him somehow. Grasp that connection to his past - to his parents' past - and find out the questions Peter wanted answering. Maybe find out questions that he didn't even know to ask yet. 

And that was why Peter was going to break into Oscorp. 

To be fair, it wasn't like his intentions were nefarious or anything. He just wanted to meet Dr. Connors, to talk to him, to discuss his work maybe. To talk about Peter's parents. It wasn't, Peter justified to himself, like anyone would ever know that he snuck in anyways.

And then Gwen Stacy, from his school, was leading the interns' tour. What were the odds of that? He ducked behind the other interns, staying careful to keep his face hidden and cursing his rotten luck. 

Well. He was mostly staying careful.

Peter winced. 

"And you are?" Dr. Connors asked him, impressed after he hadn't been able to resist answering the questions about science. The questions that pertained to what Peter's parents had been studying, if they really had been working with this guy. 

And maybe Peter had got a little too caught up in the moment, desperate to impress the last living link he had to his parents and why they left. Well, he sure impressed Dr. Connors all right - and got noticed, which he had been actively trying to avoid. 

Luckily Gwen saved Peter by covering for him. 

"One of Midtown's brightest. Second in his class." And didn't that sound like a challenge? Either that, or she was subtly trying to call Peter an idiot. Which, that was fair. He did sneak into Oscorp and then get caught by her. Not his smartest move. Or his stealthiest, for that matter. 

And maybe it was good luck, not bad luck, that Gwen had caught him; she allowed him to remain there. "Stay with the group!" She instructed sternly, and he agreed. Only then, he noticed the symbol for the algorithm on a passing file. Naturally, he had to follow it. And then came the sudden and overwhelming showers of spider falling from their webs. Complete nightmare city. 

He ended up getting his badge taken away. 

(But he sort of, maybe, deserved it. Okay, it was completely justified. Whatever.) 

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

The rest of the night passed in somewhat of a strange blur. He remembered... some sort of incident of the subway. But it was quickly forgotten in his quest for _food_ because he was so, so hungry all of a sudden. He didn't know why? But he was absolutely famished. He eyed the frozen macaroni and decided to grab that too. Because food. 

And. There was a spider. That had come out of his neck. His neck! He was going to be sick. No, really, he was going to - going to - 

He must have passed out. 

Because when he woke up, he felt, okay. He didn't feel clammy or starving or anything at all like last night. He eagerly chalked it up to an allergic reaction to the spider bite and was grateful to be feeling better. Actually, he felt pretty great. He had worried for nothing. 

Peter decided that he would be fine. 

And then he realized he had developed spider powers. The broken faucet mocked his earlier optimism. 

Peter needed help. He needed someone - an expert or something. But who would be an expert about suddenly developing remarkable traits after a spider had _been in his neck_ from Oscorp? Oh, Peter realized, he was an idiot. There _was_ an expert in cross species genitics, who specifically studied the attempts of combining human DNA and animal DNA. 

Dr. Curt Connors. 

\---------------------------------------------

It was Curt's only day off; he intended to curl up on his sofa and catch up on some light reading. He had barely turned the kettle on when there was knocking on his door, which was surprising. He wasn't expecting anyone, and he wasn't exactly the social type - he didn't have any friends that would just drop by, especially not unannounced. 

When he opened the door, he was mildly shocked by what he saw. It was the intern from the other day - the rather intelligent one. Curt became a bit alarmed; what was he even doing at his house? 

It was, truthfully, the very last thing he had been expecting to have an intern come knocking at the door of his private address.

"But this is a home." He dismissed the boy, trying to impress the severity, and send him away. 

"I'm Richard Parker's son!" The boy interjected right before Curt could completely close the door. And didn't that steal his breath away? That name, so long unspoken, suddenly shouted in his doorway as a reason to let someone in.

He, indeed, let him come in.

He went back to his kitchen, the boy trailing behind him awkwardly, and Curt screwed his eyes shut for a moment. Then he focused himself on making them both a cup of tea, the familiar action calming him. The boy accepted the cup, visibly nervous as he stopped fidgeting with his sleeves.

Curt braced himself, took a breath, and then really looked at the boy.

"You look... just like your father." He breathed in shock.

"But with my mother's eyes?" The boy grinned.

"No, no! You're your father through and through."

"It- it was a Harry Potter reference. No? Okay then." The boy sipped at his tea, clearly in an attempt to stop himself from having to speak further. He grimaced slightly at the taste but didn't say anything.

Curt drank his own tea, amused at the childish reaction that was attempted to be hidden by politeness.

The boy did indeed look just like his father, Curt thought with a surprising feeling that he recognized as rising anger. Richard Parker, who had taken all of their research and fled. Abandoning Curt to solely face the ridicule from their peers, the doubt and scorn from their employers demanding that he produce results that he just couldn't give. Curt Connors had had his name dragged through the mud because of Richard Parker, and here was a younger version of him standing before Curt's eyes. Offering Curt - what? To work as an intern for him?

Curt couldn't resist making offhand remarks, letting him know that Richard had stolen so much when he left. None of their research would work without what Richard had taken and possibly destroyed. And then Parker finally got to the point of why he had shown up, unannounced, at Curt's home.

No, Curt realized. This version of Richard was offering Curt another chance. Richard Parker had taken all of their efforts and fled, leaving no data behind. And here was his son, offering Curt the Double Zero Decay Rate Algorithm. Offering him a miracle of a chance to continue Curt and Richard's previous work and to build upon it.

Richard Parker may have taken everything from Curt when he left. But he didn't need Richard anymore. Curt would just have to ensure that this Parker - Peter, he reminded himself - would never leave Curt's side at all. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the first chapter! I'm not sure how often updates are going to be. I just wanted to start writing this and share it with anyone interested. It's definitely different than my previous works, so I'm nervous and excited. 
> 
> Hope you have a wonderful day! Thanks for reading


	2. Ill Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dr. Connors? Um, can - can you please let go?" The boy cautiously asked, pulling slightly at his captured wrist.
> 
> Curt blinked. And then released him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could write this story better. But I'm posting this anyways because I love the plot, even if I'm seriously anxious about it how it's actually written.

Curt offers him access to the labs in Oscorp, so as long as he's accompanied by Curt. It draws Peter in like a moth to a flame, impresses the boy beyond measure. 

To be able to aid Curt in scientific research and discovery clearly means a lot to the boy. He is bright eyed and full of wonder. He's eager to please Curt, spending hours and hours with him instead of elsewhere. They work on applying the algorithm, on its possible formula compatibilities, on studying it effects on mice - they work on so much and not nearly enough. 

Clearly, the boy also feels the same way. He arrives with fresh ideas daily, his enthusiasm never faltering. It is somewhat reminiscent to his father; the way Richard would excitedly move about the labs every day, spurred on by his apparent love of science. But Curt knew better than to assume it would stay like this. Young men are fickle creatures, and Parkers have proved to be even more so. 

It is at least, Curt thought to himself with much relief and some approval, very easy to lure him in to Curt's lab. All he needs now is some way to snare him- to ensure that he wants to come back, to make sure that he stays here. That he doesn't dare think of leaving, that the thought never crosses his mind. That he doesn't run off like his father once did, betraying Curt in the process. Taking and destroying his work. 

The boy suddenly says something to him, and Curt responded, snapped out of his dark musings. 

For now. 

 

\---------------------------------------------

Peter understood that spending time at the labs in Oscorp was such a huge opportunity, let alone working in those labs alongside an actual doctorate scientist. He was immensely grateful for the chance. And if it meant spending increasingly more and more time at Oscorp, then so be it. 

 His phone rang, which annoyed Dr. Connors when he checked to see who it was that was calling him. It was his Uncle Ben. Peter deliberated briefly - answering his parental figure's call versus ignoring his guardian and continuing science - but then decided what to do. 

He rejected the call, silenced his phone, and gave Dr. Connors a shake of the head. The man answered with an approving smile. 

They had things to do - science to achieve! Peter marveled at the opportunity, eager and excited. This - this was important scientific work! And Peter - _Peter!_ \- was helping with it. 

He could always call Uncle Ben back later. 

\-----------------------------------------------

  


And then Uncle Ben died.

  


\-----------------------------------------------

  


  


  


  


  


_(And it was all Peter's fault.)_

  


  


  


  


  


\-----------------------------------------------

"Dr. Connors? Um, can - can you please let go?" The boy cautiously asked, pulling slightly at his captured wrist.

Curt blinked. And then released him.

He hadn't intended to grab the boy. It just... had happened.

Peter was nervously fidgeting next to him as he was obviously trying to stand still, alternating between massaging his red wrist and abruptly letting go - as if the frail appendage had burned him.

Curt spent the next half hour eyeing him thoughtfully from the corner of his eye. It was true that he had been more stressed than usual as of late. He'd been under more and more pressure recently to have results, to have his unready formula ready human subjects - particulary, for one very important, dying human subject. Saying 'no' to Norman Osborn only caused anger and threats of unemployment, withdrawn funding. Curt had been stewing in his anxieties, his furious anger, and his helplessness for a while now. Today must have been a breaking point - snatching the boy's thin wrist in a harsh grasp and unrelenting. 

The boy, it seemed, had also reacted oddly. He shouldered the blame of Curt's sudden violence easily - almost eagerly. True, the boy had seemed to be under some sort of stress of his own lately. He was certainly less lively, devastated even. He also often walked around with a heavily guilty air, as if he were directly responsible for some terrible burden. As if something was his fault that he was ashamed of; and as if his mere presence was proof of his every misdeed. 

Curt's eyed flickered straight ahead, an idea blossoming. 

Then, with a deliberate pretense of obliviousness, he turned around roughly and 'accidentally' shouldered the boy as he brushed past.

"Oh!" Curt exclaimed in faux surprise, outwardly ignoring the way the boy had flinched away a bit. "I'm so sorry, didn't realize that you were still there. Or that you'd be that close by and in the walkway instead of at the work desk."

"No, it was my fault, really! You're right; I should get back to work and out of the way." The boy hurried to assure him and then scrambled to get back to work. As if it possibly could have been his fault when they both knew it wasn't. Or, at least, it seemed only Curt knew it wasn't.

Hmm, Curt mused. This was well worth looking into.

\------------------------------------------------

Curt was, if nothing else, a scientist. And he wanted to test his hypothesis.

If Curt pressed the boy just the right way - physically, verbally - then the boy would potentially:

a: learn to always claim any transgression as his own fault, never Curt's fault. 

b: become reluctant to leave Curt until Curt allowed it.

However, the second one probably depended on balancing intimidation with careful amounts of praise. Even though getting Peter to stay whenever Curt had told him to in the past had costed nearly no effort, this would be different. He wanted Peter to want to not leave him, for his first instinct to be to stay by his side. 

Of course, since it was his first time performing the experiment - and he really only had one chance - it was crucial to not miss any steps or observations in the process in order to achieve the result he wanted. While achieving either a or b would be satisfying, it would be even _more_ satisfying to achieve both conclusions. 

Curt eyed Peter thoughtfully the next morning as Peter said a cheerful hello. He took two seconds before he spoke to analyze what route he should take.

"Good morning, Peter." He replied with a slight smile. "I'm glad to see you. We've got a busy day ahead of ourselves today."

So, a limited amount of praise to entice.

Peter seemed to appreciate the courteous comments, looking shyly bashful.

It was an expression that he had never seen on Richard Parker. But this was his son, so of course there would be discrepancies between facial expressions, he had to remind himself.

When Peter later accidently bumped into a desk, jostling it a bit, Curt admonished sharply, "Careful! You don't want your clumsiness to ruin our work, do you?" The desk only held stacks of notebooks, discarded beakers, and other trivialities. But even though Curt didn't truly place much value in them, Peter's eyes widened naively in alarm. 

"Sorry!" He apolgized, taking a hasty step away from the desk, hands up the air apologetically. 

"That's why I'm here, don't worry." Curt soothed. "Why don't you go take a break, ease your nerves?"

Peter's eyes widened further. "No! I'm fine - really!" 

Curt tsked at him. "I don't think you are fine, Peter. Just a quick break; I know, why don't you bring us back some coffee?"

Peter blinked at him, still looking worried. "Coffee? Um, sure, yeah. I'll - I'll be right back!"

"There's no rush, Peter." Curt said, a smile beginning to form on his lips as Peter rushed out of the room. 

\----------------------------------------------

When Peter came back, it was obvious that he eagerly anticipated Curt's approval. He hovered nearby, seemingly waiting for Curt to tell him that _"Yes, good job getting me this coffee; it's really good."_ Curt smiled, accepted the cup, but took a few minutes to taste it; it must have have aggravated the boy's impatience and anxiety to have to wait. 

Curt took a sip, pretending as if he didn't feel Peter's eyes watching him and waiting for his approval. He frowned at the cup, deliberately exaggerated. He heard Peter inhale quickly. 

"Peter," He said, turning, as if in surprise. "You got me coffee."

He could see the confusion on Peter's face. The reluctance to question his seemingly odd lapse in memory. 

"You - told me to go get coffee?" And it came out like a question, deliciously unsure. Curt nearly preened. 

"Oh no," He said instead, as if dismayed, "Does that mean you have coffee in your cup too?" 

"Yes? Why? What's wrong?" Peter was visibly starting to worry a bit. 

"Oh. It's nothing really." Curt looked away, like he couldn't bear to face him. 

"No, really!" Peter stepped closer, his tone more urgent. "What's wrong?"

"Well," Curt sighed, as if this were all a great tremendous burden. "I _told_ you to go get us tea, not coffee."

There was a pause. 

"But - but I could have sworn..." Peter murmured, his shoulders rising up self-consciously. 

"You were obviously mitaken." Curt looed at him sternly. "Why would I say coffee? You needed to calm down. Tea would be better; you don't need the caffeine that's in coffee working you up further." 

"I - I guess I don't. I don't know why - I could have _sworn_ you said - "

"Well I didn't." He interrupted him harshly. 

Peter's cheeks flushed in embarrassed shame. 

The coffees both sat untouched as they worked. Peter kept stopping every so often to check in with Curt, asking him to verify simplistic steps that Peter obviously knew before but now felt uncertain about. His confidence had taken a drastic hit, and now he relied on Curt's expertise and advice. The boy sought Curt's counsel, his approval for the boy's every tentative action. 

Inside, Curt Connors felt gleeful. 

\----------------------------------------------

"Did you catalogue today's activities?" Curt asked the boy idly, even though he knew the boy hadn't had the chance to yet. 

"Oh! Um, give me like thirty five minutes, and I'll have them done." Peter smiled at him before hurrying to do so. He was always in such a rush, terribly eager to help and also terribly terrified of disappointing. 

When he was finished, Peter presented them to Curt. Curt took them with his hand and placed them on a desk so that he could begin to flip through them. 

Curt looked over his report summaries and frowned, pursing his lips. "Peter," He chided. "Why are these in different colors?" 

The boy's face was torn between worry about Curt's tone and proud excitement. "They're all organized by color. See? Freddy's folder is written in blue, and -" 

"No, no, no." Curt interrupted, and Peter instantly snapped his mouth shut. "They all have to be _uniform._ " Curt lied sorrowfully, shaking his head. "These will have to be redone." 

The boy looked stricken. And wasn't _that_ a thought? "Really?" He asked, disappointed and incredulous. "I guess I'll start them over then." He made a motion to grab the papers back, but Curt pulled them away and held them out of his reach. 

"No." Curt sighed. "You've done _quite_ enough. I'll redo them. It looks like they need to be more thorough in their analysis. I'll fix everything that's lack while I start them all over." 

The boy's eyes widened but he didn't protest. 

And, damn, it was a lot of extra work for Curt, but it was worth it in the long run. Still, though, it would have been nice if he could have left the color coding. It had been a good idea. However, to achieve results, some sacrifices must be made. 

\------------------------------------------

Peter accidentally injured himself one day by skipping an imperative step in the instructions. It resulted in a minor chemical reaction and splashed his fingers; and that meant Peter had to hose it off with the pressure shower. It hurt a lot, but the actual damage is quite little - only surface damage that looks suspiciously like it might be on its way to improving a tiny bit already. Thank goodness for Spider Powers. 

Peter truly hadn't seen the step there before, but Curt showed it to him on the paper after he finishes cleansing off. And there it is - Step 12 - printed out in numerical order just like the rest of them. He's in a lot of pain, and he feels like a complete idiot. 

"Shhh, shhh." Curt soothed gently. Peter blinked pitifully up at him with pained, tearful eyes. "It only hurts because you didn't _listen_ to me. You'll listen next time, won't you, Peter?" 

The boy nodded almost frantically. "Next time, I'll listen to you." He promised.

"Good." Curt said very casually. "Then next time, you won't get hurt." 

Curt had already discarded Peter's previous copy of the sabotaged instructions; he let the boy keep the new one, with the correct steps. The boy was none the wiser. What he _was_ is even more dependent on Curt. Even more trusting. Peter now asks him more questions, was barely sure of himself, and liked to require constant supervision. 

Curt often sighed and enforced the idea that the boy was being a great burden, taking up his valuable time. But Curt, of course, showed that he was gracious enough to help, and the boy was ever so thankful. 

And also completely oblivious. 

(Just the way Curt liked it.)

\-----------------------------------------

The boy came in during normal hours, sure. Almost immediately right after school, he would arrive. He would stay for hours, usually until some other scientists would glance over on their way out and see him still there. Curt's peers didn't approve of the boy working so often, staying so late, especially since he wasn't technically on any work schedule or intern roster. 

So while, _yes,_ the boy worked during normal intern hours - he often stayed far past those. 

One day, Peter came in like normal. But when he arrived, he explained to Curt that he couldn't stay a long time because he had a ... group project ... to go to afterwards. And the way that Peter had stumbled over those words was rather suspicious, but he simply let it go. For now. Curt frowned at the news. 

"Is there any way," He asked slowly, an idea forming, "That you can come back in after your ...group?" 

Curt worked until he was the last one working on his floor. And then he waited. Peter came back, just as he had hoped he would. And, now, they had the entirety of the department to themselves. Curt's hand flexed into a fist, and he had to consciously remain unclenched and approachable. 

This schedule became their new normal. Peter would show up, leave, and come back to work during the darkness and solitude of the night. When it was just them two, Curt and Richard Parker's son all alone. 

It allowed Curt to slowly become more brazen with his insults, less subtle. Things that he hadn't dared say in front of colleagues were now options. 

And, in time, he mused, so was using physical force. The boy wasn't _quite_ ready for that just yet; he would protest or even leave. But a few more noticeable occasions - a week's time, maybe - of Curt strategically diminishing the boy's confidence. Well, he'd get there. Eventually. 

\------------------------------------------

He felt another success when the boy expanded upon his personal life, confessing his troubles to Curt. 

"Aunt May thinks that I'm spending too much time away - here, I mean. She doesn't understand. But I hate to upset her. Especially after - after everything that's happened ...lately."

"Mmm. You're right." Curt said, and Peter visibly perked up a bit. "She just doesn't understand. What we're doing, Peter, it's not just science. It's important. It'll change lives. It'd be absolutely _selfish_ of you to not help such a great cause."

And, with that, the boy deflated again, looking both chagrined and resigned. "You're right." 

"Of course I am." Curt laughed, tone light and easy. "I'm always right."

Peter laughed too. "You _are_ always right." He agreed. 

"Well, one of has to be." Curt threw at him, and he pretended he didn't see the mortified blush of embarrassment from the boy. The boy had been increasingly making more frequent "errors" and was vividly aware and ashamed of them. Curt relished it in and planted even more seeds of doubt. "Especially with you the way you are, you know."

Peter gave another laugh; this one was stilted and awkward. "Well, you know me." He tried to joke. "I'm just...clumsy."

"Must've bumped your head a lot as a child then." Curt murmured, nodding, as if in agreement with his clumsiness. 

Peter realized the slight for what it was - an attack at his intelligence - but didn't defend himself. The fake laughter came back. "Must've." He agreed. He _agreed,_ even after being insulted to his face and understanding it to be an insult. 

Curt smiled at him. Positive reinforcement. 

Peter smiled back, relieved that he had obviously said the right thing if Curt was smiling at him. 

\--------------------------------------------

It was well into nighttime; and while Curt had let the clock go by as they worked, he needed to start heading out now. 

"Peter!" Curt called out, his voice sounding louder in the emptiness. The boy didn't look up. Curt frowned, walking over, and he wondered if this was a relapse in the boy's training. He had been doing so well before now - reacting exactly the way Curt had envisioned. "Peter." He said again, grabbing the boy's shoulder roughly and pulling him backwards, away from the work desk. He grabbed his seemingly startled face by the chin and lifted it, so he would have to look Curt in the eyes. "I was talking." He said sharply, watching the way Peter unsurely squirmed away from his grasp; he merely tightened his grip, and the boy stilled. 

"Um, r-right." The boy swallowed, nervously. "Sorry, Dr. Connors." Curt took a moment and then let go after the apology. But then the boy kept speaking. "I didn't mean - I was just -" 

The words cut off suddenly.

The boy's eyes widened drastically. 

Slowly, the boy lifted a hand to the reddened cheek where Curt had slapped him. The sharp, quick hit had effectively cut off his sentence and had silenced him. He stared, his eyes round and huge from beneath that slightly crooked glasses that had been knocked down a bit at the impact. 

"Next time," Curt said, calmly - so very, very calmly - " _Listen_ to me, and answer me when I'm talking to you. I'm in charge here; you need to respect my authority." 

The boy didn't say anything. 

Perhaps, Curt mused with worry, he had gone too far too quickly. Maybe, maybe he should have waited a bit to implement physical intimidation. Perhaps -

"Sorry." The boy whispered, tensely, his frame recoiled slightly, as if to subtly brace for another strike. 

The relief that Curt felt was tremendous; he hadn't rushed the experiment. Everything was still on track. 

Curt smiled disarmingly down at Peter, who blinked at the response. And then his shoulders seemed to lose some of their frigid wariness. 

"Good." Curt rewarded the boy. And then his decided to further push his luck. "I do so much for you. A little cooperation in return. That's all I'm asking for, Peter." 

The boy began to look guilty, even as he sat there with his hand still covering his reddened flesh. It was extraordinary - the effect words could have. The effect that _Curt_ could have. Especially on a vulnerable and somewhat easily misled teenager who could be swayed by those words. Curt could influence and - eventually - control this experiment; he knew it. 

He just needed more time and more exposure to the boy alone. And then- when there was no one to contradict the raging doubts in the boy's mind - that's when Curt could be the most effective. 

Curt just needed to _not rush this_ even though he wanted to; because the results were becoming more and more exhilarating, and Curt was beginning to feel more and more drunk with power. To keep sight of the long-term goal was difficult when all Curt wanted to do was one day grab Richard Parker's son by throat and _squeeze._ To show him who was in charge, to scare him from leaving like his father had, to feel the fluttering breaths underneath his fingertips slowly die down as the boy continued struggling, scratching at Curt's arm, scratching his fingers that were around a delicate, purpling throat. 

The boy coughed, gasping desperately as Curt dropped him. 

Curt had never been one for controlling his impulses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to follow canon as closely as I can _when applicable._ However, since I'm taking creative liberties, differences might occur in that aspect. 
> 
> There's also the not-so-subtle and blatantly huge differences that happen when you write a canon divergence, so.


	3. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Where do you go?" Aunt May cried mournfully. "Who does this to you?" Her hands lifted to cradle his bruised face but then fell back down instead.

It was much later than he usually came home at, and Peter knew it. At nearly four in the morning, today was pushing limits. The darkness stretched across the city, in the twilight of not yet morning and yet too late to be night time. And his aunt was still awake, having stayed up to wait for him. He hadn't initially noticed her because he hadn't turned any of the lights on, but she was there, hidden at first by the shadows. She was also clearly upset, when her expression became visible in the dark; Peter's eyes had adjusted to the darkness by then. 

Peter dove into the refrigerator, partially because he hadn't eaten - even though he wasn't hungry and his stomach was rolling - and partially to avoid the confrontation. But mostly, it was because it was an attempt to hide his battered face from his aunt. He didn't want her to see it. His swollen, purple, bleeding face. The cool refrigerator air actually felt somewhat good on it. 

"Did you get the eggs?" She asked. And, yup, Peter was _that_ much of a useless moron that he hadn't remembered the request at all until now. Such a simple task, and Peter still failed at even that. 

"Nope. Forgot the eggs." Peter admitted to her, slamming the fridge door shut, and at that moment he became angry. Angry at himself for being so stupid and for forgetting the eggs and for momentarily forgetting that he had been hiding his beat up face in the refrigerator. He had to _hope_ she didn't see the dark bruise or the red scraping cuts that lined his face from underneath his hood. The dark purple fingerprints that were wrapped around his throat. All of the things that were so much easier to hide behind the refrigerator door, where she wouldn't be able to glimpse his secrets, his burdens, his vulnerabilities, his weaknesses. He wanted to go and duck his head back into hiding, shielded from view - far away from her gaze. 

She walked over, sighing, as she turned on the light switch. The dim light lit their section of the kitchen and left the rest in shadows; at this new exposure, Peter again wished that he could go back to hiding in the shadows. Peter braced himself, not directly looking at her, blinking furiously as his eyes readjusted. 

"I'm going to get them right now." He offered, trying to avoid what he knew was about to happen. He was careful to keep his back to her as he spun around to leave, leave back into the darkness and where she wouldn't be able to see. The darkness of outside would conceal him. He just needed to get there - to go away, so far away from here and from her. 

"You will most certainly not. Not at this hour." She scolded, closing the kitchen door before he had even fully opened it, pushing him aside to do so. He winced, shying away from the sudden and close proximity. 

He ducked his head down, walking over to lean over the kitchen sink and face away from her once more. He was cornered. His anxiety was building, and he felt so trapped. Exposed. So terribly, rawly exposed. 

"Look at me, Peter." She ordered, frustrated. "Look at me, and take off the damn hood." 

He yanked it off, his back still to her, and then he abruptly rounded to face her, forcing himself to look her in the eye. And then he had to look away. He couldn't quite find his breath. 

Peter could tell the exact moment that she had seen his face. She reared back, as if struck by the sight of him. She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked again frenziedly, as if desperately hoping it was merely a trick of the poor lighting. 

If he had felt exposed before, it was nothing in comparison to the feeling that he was now experiencing. 

"Where do you go?" Aunt May cried mournfully. "Who does this to you?" Her hands lifted to cradle his bruised face but then fell back down instead. She stared at him, distressed and distraught, and hesitant of how to proceed when Peter had initially flinched away from her. 

"Just leave it, Aunt May." He begged. Peter couldn't bare to meet her devastated eyes.

"Peter." She pleaded, crestfallen. "Tell me!" 

"Just go to sleep, Aunt May!" 

"Peter, _please!_ " She implored, shaking her head, as if she couldn't understand the denial. 

"Aunt May, just please, please, _please_ go to sleep!" He asked of her, even though he knew she wouldn't let this go. He just wanted to her to not be so sad, and if he told her - if he told her - 

"Don't you understand?" She raised her voice, angry and shocked and devastated. "I can't sleep! Not when you're out there! Doing God knows what with God knows who! And coming home looking like _this!_ And you won't tell me why!" 

"Aunt May, _please!_ " He cried out brokenly, his voice much too loud and much too vulnerable because she did stop - but it was likely it was only because he had just broken her heart further. "Please." He whispered, unsure if he was addressing her or himself. 

The roaring kettle broke the heavy, tense atmosphere. Aunt May went to turn of the stove, and Peter tentatively followed over to where she had gone. Gently brushing against each others' shoulders, Aunt May turned to face him. 

"Peter, listen to me." She cautioned softly, tenderly grabbing on to his jacket and holding on, as if it could anchor him to her. He had to turn away because he couldn't bear to face her earnest eyes, but yet he looked back - the same heartfelt kindness drawing him in. "Secrets have a cost. They're not for free. Not now. Not ever." He made to move, to flee the kitchen, but she grabbed on tightly. "Peter." She continued, still loving but more firm now. And it was more the fact that her voice was so warm than that her hands were holding on to him that kept Peter from moving. " _Peter._ "

She lifted her hands slowly, as if afraid that she would scare him away, that he would suddenly disappear once she released him, or that she would hurt him some how with her gentle touch. She grasped his face softly, with her warm and loving hands and stared at him sadly, searchingly. He leaned into the tender touch, and he was crying in earnest now. The tears rolled down his puffy eye and his swollen cheek, and they fell down over his purple and red skin. 

"Peter." Her own watery eyes hardened. "Tell me. _Tell me_ so that I can help you, please, Peter." Her voice was grave, except for when it cracked precariously due to her tears hitching the smoothness of it. He didn't - he couldn't - say anything, and her gaze only grew more somber, more heartbroken. She finally let go of his face; but it was only so she could grab him in an encompassing hug. All Peter could do was clutch on to her, folding himself around her. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He just apologized into her shoulder guiltily. His wet tears seeped into the material on her shoulder. "I'm so _sorry,_ Aunt May." And suddenly his tears turned into sobs; he tried to him them, but they shook his whole frame. And she rubbed his back soothingly as he wept, clinging on to her for support. 

"Shhhh, I believe you, Peter, shhh. It's going to be okay. We'll.... we'll get through this. You'll see. Things _will_ get better. Oh, Peter." 

And he didn't know how long they stood there for, in the dark kitchen only illuminated by a single, dim light. Just stood there and held other, clutching on to each other for support. And Peter soaked in all of her love, and he wanted _so badly_ to be able to just have her fix everything some how, but she couldn't. Everything was too complicated, and he couldn't say anything, and - And this had to be enough. All he could do in this situation was take the comfort that was being offered. All he could do was hold on and pretend his arms weren't shaking and that he wasn't trembling. 

All he could really _do_ was nothing at all - but he could do this. He could allow himself to fall apart in his aunt's arms for just one night. And tomorrow, tomorrow he wouldn't be such a burden; he'd get a better grasp on his emotions. But, for now, he cried and he cried. And Aunt May held him, and she told him that everything was going to be fine. And - for just one night - it could be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the inspiration behind writing this story. 
> 
> "Where do you go?" Aunt May asked, and this story - titled "This Is Where" - is an attempt to somewhat answer that question.


	4. Interest In Irregularities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From people at school to SHIELD, Peter starts being noticed. This chapter is where the canon divergence starts to become more pronounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an allusion to Flash's abusive father; which it is canon in most universes but is not explicitly stated in TASM. (In this story, Flash is now living in a safe place.)

It was in p.e. class that things went wrong. 

Flash approached him, laughing, as he tried to jeeringly get Peter to join them in basketball. 

"C'mon, Parker!" He called from across the court. "I know you've got skills! Maybe try to _not_ break the backboard this time though, huh?" He laughed easily, and that was something about Flash that had sure changed. His laughter towards Peter wasn't mocking anymore; not since Uncle Ben had died. Somehow, that had made Flash decide to act like an actually decent human being. But sometimes, like today, he also decided that he and Peter were the best of buddies. 

"I'm not really feeling it." Peter said in reply, shrugging. 

"Don't make me come over there, Parker! I'll come over there and make you!" Nowadays, even Flash's threats were said with a lighthearted teasing quality that differed vastly from the past. 

"C'mon, Flash, I don't really want to." Peter tried to talk his way out of it.

But Flash just grinned and marched over there. His friends whooped, a couple of them shouting repetitively, "Headlock, headlock, headlock!"

But the smile left Flash's face when he approached the bleachers where Peter was sitting all by himself. He stared down at Peter for a moment, not doing anything at all. 

Flash's eyes were oddly serious. "Parker," He said softly, his face uncomfortable, "Parker, are those bruises on your neck?" 

Peter's eyes widened in alarm. He hadn't realized that the neckline of his old sweater - comforting but worn out - would slip down. He should have anticipated that, should have worn a scarf or something. The bruises were unmistakably caused by someone else, in the purple shape of imprinted fingers. 

Flash continued to stare at him in pity, something unbearably sad and knowing in his gaze. 

Peter tried to come up with some explanation. Anything. But his mind was blank in the face of this unexpected incident. It was an occurrence that had never even struck Peter as a possibility - having his bruises or injuries suddenly discovered at school. Sometimes if someone had stared, he would trip and loudly exclaim what a klutz he was. But these - these couldn't be attributed to clumsiness or an accident skateboarding. 

Flash seemed to take his stunned silence as confirmation. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, before releasing it. "I know I'm not probably your first choice for this, but if you ever need to talk -"

And apparently the situation could, in fact, get worse. 

"- or if you need someplace safe. Even just for a little while. I have an apartment by myself. Just me. You could take the couch, or I could if you'd prefer to have a locking bedroom door. Just." He exhaled noisily. "Don't wait until it's too much to call me. Call me - even if you feel weird - because getting out is so important. Once you get out, it - well, it doesn't get easier - but everything's not so terrible or difficult. Trust me." 

And the thing was, Peter thought that maybe he did trust him. A little. He was so earnest and, most importantly, calm. Peter obviously wouldn't take him up on the offer; but still, the gesture was nice, and Peter somewhat appreciated it. 

Loudly, Flash said, "All you had to say was that you were sick, Parker. Go to the nurse or something before you puke, geez." And then he simply walked back to his friends. 

Peter did go to the nurse. He skipped the next two classes and just took a nap on the bed. The nurse asked him if he wanted to go home, since he was still looking pale. And that made Peter wince a bit since he wasn't _actually_ sick, but apparently he must have looked like it. 

He didn't go home, even if the thought of just hiding away in his blankets was oddly reassuring. 

He just kept his head down and the neckline of his sweater diligently pulled up. 

\----------------------------------------

When Peter didn't accept Flash's offer - even though he began coming to school with even worse, even more visible injuries - Flash began to stare at him a lot. He wasn't subtle, and he didn't seem to be attempting to hide it either. He just... watched Peter. Sadly, patiently, he watched him, as if cataloguing all of his new injuries and trying to decipher any injuries that weren't visible. But he didn't approach Peter again about it, even if he clearly was still worried. He kept his distance, and he kept his silence. Peter appreciated that. 

Some people, on the hand, were not so silent and not so distant. 

\--------------------------------------------

 

"I didn't know a skateboard could punch." Gwen Stacy said primly, refusing to be cowed. 

"Who says I was punched?" Peter asked, deflecting pathetically. 

"Your bruise looks weird." 

Peter shrugged. "'S just a bruise. All bruises look weird. I'm bad at skateboarding." 

"I'm just worried about you. I just want you to know that." She confessed. 

"That's nice. That's a nice thought." Peter replied, his tone lacking any sort of genuineness. It was clear that he was just trying to brush her off, to get rid of her as quickly as possible without confrontation. 

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't get to say anything else as the bell rang shrilly to go to class. Her lips pursed in frustration. 

He walked away, feeling both grateful and tired. 

"Peter!" She called out, and he jumped, then turned instinctively towards his name. 

"Just...stay safe, alright?" She offered, something barely reminiscent of a smile on her face. Peter nodded, then left. 

She sighed. 

That boy. She stared after him, watching him go as she worried. She just wanted to know that he'd be okay. She just wanted him to _be_ okay. 

She had tentatively labeled them as friends, ever since the basketball incident, perhaps on their way to more. It had _seemed_ like he had been flirting back at the time too. And immediately after his uncle had died, they had definitely become something of friends. Or at least, enough of friends for him to accept her offered comfort. But something had changed rapidly after that. And now, now -

Now it was like Peter was distancing himself from everyone and everything. And then those _terrible bruises_ started showing up, along with cuts and scrapes. It - maybe, _maybe_ \- could have been passed off for skateboarding, like Peter kept claiming. But then came the black eyes, and the bruises around his wrists, and the one around his _neck_ that had made her go to the nearest bathroom stall and shakily lock herself inside. Because it wasn't skateboarding. It was a _person_ that was hurting Peter. And she didn't know how to help if he wouldn't even admit it was happening. 

Gwen wasn't sure what to do in this situation. Any budding friendship that had been starting between them was splintering off - dwindling - and the distance between the two only kept growing. How could she help when Peter didn't trust her? 

So Gwen did nothing. And then came the day where Peter fell asleep in class. And Gwen had gently nudged him, trying to stir him before the teacher noticed and gave him detention. And Peter - _Peter_ \- he recoiled away from the touch instinctively, flinching, \- from her touch - and his head shot up to look at her, his eyes wild and scared. 

Gwen couldn't not do anything. Not after that. 

And so she went to her dad, determined. 

And then her face fell. "What do you mean that I can't do anything?" She asked furiously, but her lower lip was trembling. 

Captain Stacy sighed. "Your friend has to make the report themselves. And, even then, there has to be significant evidence. Visible injuries or documented injuries. Interviews, processes, social workers - it could take a while, even if the police do get the chance to pursue it. But I can't just accept your word for it, Gwen. Your friend can't stay anonymous and must be willing to testify - or at least file a report." 

Gwen bit her lip. "But he - I mean, my friend - they won't admit that there's anything wrong." 

Captain Stacy shrugged. "I'm sorry then. They have to file the report, not you." 

"It's not fair." Gwen said angrily. "That's stupid." 

"Then what would you say, Gwen? 'I'm filing a report for my friend - whose name I won't tell you - who has abusive parents but refuses to admit it? And I know that that impedes your legal process and makes your job actually impossible to do, but can you miraculously make just him the exception?' It just doesn't work like that." 

"It's, um, not his parents." Gwen muttered, swiping at her nose. "I don't know _who_ is it." 

"Even better." He sarcastically said, frustrated. And then he sighed, weary and apologetic. "I'm sorry." 

"Yeah." Gwen breathed quietly in disappointed agreement. "Me too." 

\-----------------------------------------

That afternoon, Peter went to the labs in Oscorp as usual. It was his duty and responsibility, after all; but, more importantly, _Dr. Connors_ depended on him. He couldn't imagine not going, at this crucial point in the process. Plus, it was such an integrated part of his routine that it would be odd, to say the least.

However, Peter paused as he exited the elevator. 

There were some people that he wasn't able to recognize. One of the lounged casually against the closed clear doors to get in the office, his back facing to Peter.

Dr. Connors caught his eye. Peter smiled at him in greeting, but the scientist only frowned in reply. He made a quick shooing motion, a clear dismissive gesture towards Peter. So Peter turned around and walked straight back to the elevator that he had just came from. 

No one but Curt had seen his entrance, and so no one but Curt watched him leave. 

"Dr. Connors?" Someone asked, focusing his attention. 

"Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Connors." They continued, smiling politely. "You and your staff will be hearing from us shortly in the future. We'll be in contact." 

"If I may," Curt said, partially to find out, partially to further stall them and give Peter more time to get further away undetected. "What is this all about?" 

The man's smile grew thin. "I'm afraid that that's classified. It's all rather boring anyways - minor tax issues that, in my opinion, you probably weren't involved in. Don't worry: your department appears so far to have done nothing wrong. Just keep cooperating to the best of your abilities, and we'll be out of your hair before you know it." 

Curt's eyes narrowed. "Is Norman Osborn aware that you're here? Do you even have permission?" 

One of them instinctively flinched back at the question before they went back to maintaining a straight face. Curt grew smug as he latched on to the subtle movement. 

"If you're not supposed to be here," He stressed, frowning sternly at them. "Then you _really_ need to leave. I'm not sure how you all got past security, but I'll make sure that it doesn't happen again." 

The man before him visibly grew upset. "Now, there's no need to be so hasty here -" 

"Leave." Curt issued the order again warningly. 

The group looked at each other. Sighing and grumbling to one another, they all began to leave. Curt watched them go with wary, suspicious eyes. 

He had never heard of SHIELD before, but Curt was certain that they couldn't mean anything good. 

About ten minutes later, Peter hesitantly peeked his head through the glass doors, seeking his permission to come in now that the strangers had clearly left. 

Curt's teeth clenched. 

No, it _really_ was not a good time for SHIELD to be sniffing around. Not when Curt had so much on the line to lose. 

He inhaled, unclenched his hand, and then beckoned Peter to come inside. The boy quickly scrambled in. 

Curt eyed the boy with worry. No, it was not a good sign that SHIELD was getting involved. It was not a good sign at all. 

\--------------------------------------------

Norman Osborn's lackey was growing impatient with Curt's denial to hand over the serum. How could Curt hand that over, knowing that it was incomplete? And even when it was perfect, _he_ wanted it first for himself, not for some rich bastard that thought science could be rushed on a whim. 

It wasn't the first the that Curt had been visited. Usually, it wasn't during the night however and wad during normal hours. It made Curt anxious because Peter was due to arrive soon - in an hour, perhaps. And he didn't want to have to answer the questions that would arise from his appearance at such a late hour, with Curt as his sole companion. Nor did he want Peter's actual _presence_ at Oscorp to be noted or documented. So Curt grit his teeth, and he occasionally eyed the clock as the man spoke. 

"We can take _all_ of your toys away." He said, looking significantly at Curt before flickering his eyes to the mouse. "Isn't that right?" He asked the rodent, as if its opinion would matter more than Curt's. He looked back up at Dr. Connors. "Even your favorite toy, the broken one." 

Curt was missing something in that phrasing, something crucial, and it set him on edge. Curt now focused his full attention on the man. 

"Speaking of... How _is_ Peter?" The man asked, smirking. The smirk only widened at Curt's clearly shocked and outraged face. 

"Indignation?" He asked, in amused disbelief. "It's a cheap suit on you." 

"I don't know what you mean." Curt denied, swallowing anxiously, his heart racing. 

He looked even more amused. "Don't you?" He shook his head, smile pleasantly entertained. "It's a little late for ethics, don't you agree, Dr. Connors? I'm sure Peter would."

Curt stared. He was at a loss for words. 

"Like I said," He murmured, all amusement had left his voice. "It's a cheap suit on you." 

He snatched a vial from the desk, his fist closing around it. 

"The serum is ours, anyways. Don't make us take away any of your other... _toys._ " He threatened subtly, politely refraining from being too obvious about the message that lay underneath. The one that he had already revealed. 

Oscorp had known about Peter Parker. Oscorp had known about what _Dr. Connors_ was doing to Peter Parker. And now, now, they were using the boy as some some of bartering chip against Curt - blackmail, perhaps. 

The anger boiled under Curt's skin. 

He couldn't let this come to light. He couldn't let the boy be taken from him; he was _his_ boy. And who were they to take him - to threaten Curt with that? Or to threaten him with exposing Curt's malicious treatment toward the boy. It would destroy Curt's reputation, possibly remove him from this project - from his life's work. It was unthinkable. It was infuriating. It was the final straw. 

Dr. Curtis Connors took the serum and injected himself. His own arm grew as a result - real and wonderful and alive. His dream had been accomplished. And now, all Curt had to do was show them. It had worked. Curt could - and should - remain in charge of the project. (With Peter as his assistant.) All Curt had to do was show them, stop that idiot from trying the serum out on other people. 

That had been his intentions, yes. 

It _hadn't_ been his intentions to turn into a giant lizard and go on a vengeful rampage. But, well, Curt had always been good at adapting. 

\--------------------------------------------

Peter felt like his only escape was when he was out as Spiderman. He didn't feel clumsy as Spiderman; he felt powerful. He didn't feel like he had to hide from Aunt May; his was hidden by a mask. He was spending his time being useful instead of useless. He was taking criminals off the street - violent people that used violence against other people. They deserved to be locked away. He didn't feel like anything or anyone could _really_ hurt him when he was Spiderman because, in the mask, he could fight back. He could punch anyone who punched him as long as he was Spiderman. He felt strong. 

He felt safe. 

Then, there came the Lizard. 

Saving a bridge full of people - a child, Jack - that was something totally different. It was... heroic. Peter felt oddly buoyant the next day, even with his newly acquired injuries. Gaining a couple of scrapes from saving people - it was worth it. Never before had he really _saved_ people; it had been about taking criminals off the street, about hunting after the man who had, who had -

Saving someone's life was a feeling that Peter couldn't describe, even to himself. 

He ended up oddly and terribly distracted the next science shift, which was that same night. And Dr. Connors was impatient and ruthless as he criticized and corrected all of Peter's mistakes. The final straw was when Peter asked an off topic question about reptiles. 

At home, Peter gingerly placed a cold bag of ice on his aching eye. 

Yeah. Dr. Connors had not liked Peter's lack of focus _at all._

\-------------------------------------------

The next day, as Peter was working during the night again, Dr. Connors cornered him. He peered down at Peter's body in wide-eyed alarm, and Peter hastily moved backwards a bit, unnerved by the reaction. 

"Where did you get this?" Curt asked intensely, gripping the boy's purple arm gently. Peter flinched away. It had come from the Lizard when Spiderman had fought down him - it? - on the bridge. But Peter couldn't just say _that_ to Dr. Connors. 

"No where!" The boy protested, looking down, but then he relented to Curt, just as Curt had taught him. "I fell skateboarding, is all." 

Curt's eyebrows raised at the bold lie. He hadn't expected that at all. "I didn't realize that you had any extra time to go around skateboarding." He said, disappointment and disapproval dripping from his tongue. Peter's head shot up. 

"It was on my way to school!" Peter rushed to explain, hasty in his need to assure Curt that he hadn't been using his time for such trivial things. Even if it was still, obviously, a lie, it did reassure Curt a little bit that Peter made the attempt to explain instead of denying Curt. However, he would need to be reminded the consequences of lying to Curt... 

Curt eyed the long claw-like stripes on the boy's arm and then suddenly froze in realization. "Speaking of school." He said slowly, so slowly, "What did you say your group project was on?" 

Peter gaze a nervous laugh. "Oh. Reptiles. My teacher's real... real excited about reptiles right now." 

Curt looked the boy dead in the eye. "Is that right?" His voice was quiet, threatening. 

Something was off, more than the usual, but the boy couldn't quite figure out what. Mutely, he nodded. Another lie. 

Curt's fist clenched, feeling vaguely like claws at the end where his fingertips were. 

The boy winced but didn't bother to pull away. Not from Curt. 

"Peter." He hissed. "You _really_ shouldn't have lied to me." 

\-------------------------------------------

"Who's that with him?" The group leader, Isaiah, pointed to a figure on the screen that had just exited Oscorp alongside Dr. Connors. 

"What? Oh. Some intern." Joe answered flippantly, unconcerned. 

He looked at the footage with narrowed eyes. "No it isn't. I read the debrief, and that had all the incoming and previous interns' faces on it. His isn't on there. So - who is that?" 

"A new intern?" He still sounded bored. 

"How often is he at Oscorp? And specifically when he's with Dr. Connors?" 

Joe sighed, annoyed, but made to check. As he began to run the facial recognition, his demeanor changed. He stopped slouching and began to sit forward, watching the screen with a new interest. 

"I think you might have been onto something." He admitted, his voice serious. He angled the monitor screen to face them both. 

The screen showed the start of one day as Dr. Connors entered the building, flicking forward through the day to the point where the intern skittishly entered the building in the evening, and then the reel continued. Into the next day. Which wouldn't have been something that had stood out to him except for when the intern left in the morning, he had a black eye that hadn't been there the evening before. 

He could hear his teammate inhale sharply at the sight, clearly noticing the same inconsistency. 

"The next questions," Isaiah continued. "Are how often does this happen? By whom - Dr. Connors? And, most importantly, can we use this to get a connection into Oscorp?" 

The 'intern' paused on the screen was suddenly very important, and they needed to establish contact.

\----------------------------------------------

"The amount of time that this kid is spending with Connors is... odd." Joe suggested hesitantly. 

"How so?" Isaiah asked. 

"He isn't an intern, but he comes in most days after - what can be assumed - he gets out of school and commutes there. Then he spends half an hour there and leave. But then he also comes in late, and I mean _very_ late. About sometime before midnight, he comes by and then leaves in the very early morning; usually looking more beaten up - or at least more wary than he had before."

"What are you implying?" Isaiah's eyes narrowed sharply at the screen. 

"I'm not implying anything. It's just weird, is all." 

"It is weird. Why does he leave and then come back? Why bother showing up at all in the afternoon? Why not only come at night time?" Alisha wondered.

"I can think of a few reasons, and none of them are good." Jeanette mumbled, mostly to herself. 

Isaiah looked up from where he had been intensely studying the frozen still image captured on the screen. 

"We need to interview him." He declared seriously. 

"Uh, that would require initiating contact first." Alisha reminded him. SHIELD was supposed to stay mostly under the radar for the rest of this operation. The last thing that they needed was to contact the boy and have him alert the staff, revealing to Dr. Connors that they were being investigated further than just that previous, brief interview. 

"So." Jeanette stretched out when no one replied for a couple minutes. "Who wants to go get the kid?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that this story now says it's out of nine chapters. That's the plan, but we'll see how it _actually_ goes. I'm going to try and stick with nine, but that's not something I need to rigidly adhere to.


End file.
